


White Collar

by MagicInHerMadness



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Cop/Criminal AU, F/M, Ginny's a cop, Mike's a criminal, Past relationship rekindled, They're soulmates of the most frustrating kind
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-11-19 19:24:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11320041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicInHerMadness/pseuds/MagicInHerMadness
Summary: Ginny Baker is one of the FBI's best and brightest stars. Mike Lawson is an art forgery kingpin. After a weeklong whirlwind romance, Mike confesses he's her perp and lets her take him in, never expecting to see her again, until she comes to him for help taking down his competitors in exchange for his freedom. And maybe a second chance at their love.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been writing this forever and finally decided to break it up into chapters because it's 20K and still unfinished.

Ginny takes off her blazer, draping it over the back of the metal chair before she pulls the files out of her bag. She hears the clinking of chains a few minutes before the door groans open. She doesn’t turn around to look at the entering prisoner, but every inch of her erupts in goosebumps at the sound of his footsteps as he shuffles around the table, standing in front of his own chair.

“Agent Ginny Baker in the living flesh,” he greets. She doesn’t have to look up to know he’s smiling, but she finally lifts her face from her phone.

He’s changed in his three years in prison, gotten thicker judging by the snugness of his orange DOJ jumpsuit. And he’s got a beard now, thick and dark but neatly trimmed around the grin it frames.

“It’s been a while, Lawson,” she replies, not smiling at him.

“Far too long. You don’t call. You don’t write. A lesser man might be hurt.”

The guard snorts then looks at Ginny who nods. “You can uncuff him. He’s not dangerous.”

“I might be. I’ve got a villain beard now if you haven’t noticed,” Mike interjects with a smirk as the guard unchains him. He slides into his chair, eyeing her expectantly. “To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from my arresting officer?”

Ginny looks at the officer and signals for him to leave. He looks at her unsurely but leaves, shutting the door behind him. Ginny leans on the table, slides a file to him then opens it to the pictures inside. “Any idea who got into your old racket?”

Mike shrugs. “Could be anyone. Fencing is huge business these days so I hear.”

“I need a name, Mike,” she replies.

Mike leans over, resting his elbows on the table. “Did you get any of my letters?”

Ginny frowns, leans back out of his space. “That’s not why I’m here.”

“You never write back.” He’s written her once a week for three years, most of them detailed descriptions of places he’d been, or recounts of his memories of her and the far too short 10 days they’d spent together before she knew the truth. He always addresses the letters to an old burned name from one of her undercover missions long before she met him and her values shifted so violently that she’s not sure what she believes in anymore.

Julia Whelan was a waitress who worked in a dive bar in Boston. She had the freedom to run away with him like he’d asked after he told her the awful truth. Agent Ginny Baker, one of the FBI’s best and brightest, didn’t have the liberty of pretending. Ginny rakes a hand through her curls and Mike’s eyes follow, trained on the diamond bracelet on her tiny wrist. It’s stolen, vintage Tiffany & Co. that he gave her right before she took him in.

"You still have it.”

“I got the letters,” she replies, but taps her fingers on the file to get the meeting back on track. Mike reaches out, brushes the bracelet with his fingertips then ghosts them over the back of her hand and Ginny snatches away like he’s on fire. “Don’t.”

Mike shrugs, undeterred, and looks over the file. He looks up at her with a frown. “This guy’s a hack, using bargain basement distressing treatments to turn cheap knockoffs into convincing replicas.”

“Isn’t that what you did?”

He shakes his head. “I specialized in rare finds, replicas that were one of one because they were modeled after something one of a kind.”

“They’re all fakes, Mike,” she reminds.

“No. These are fakes. Mine were forgeries. There’s a difference.”

Ginny snorts. “You still believe your own racket after all this time.”

Mike nods. “A salesman has to believe at least part of his pitch for it to work. And my stuff was hand-crafted, made by guys who are every bit as much artists as the guys they copy.”

“But this guy isn’t like that?” She doesn’t lift her eyes from the pictures, not wanting to meet his eyes or acknowledge his studying gaze on her face.

“This guy is all about his own money. He’s cutting corners with craftsmen, fleecing clients who probably don’t realize they’ve been had until they try to resell this stuff. He’s a hack. Catching him won’t be that hard because he’s sloppy.”

“You say that like you were such a ghost.”

“I was before you,” he replies, his hand venturing out to hers again. He threads their fingers together, surprised when she doesn’t move her hand away. She was the first agent who’d ever seen him though she didn’t know it at the time.

“You conned me too.” There’s no heat to her words, but her accusation sounds worse than the dozen counts of forgery they successfully pent on him.

“At first. When I got on your trail, I just wanted to get you turned around. Then when I met you…” He stops and Ginny finally lifts her eyes to his face. He’s looking at a spot over her shoulder, just close enough that she might think he’s looking at her if she didn’t know him better than that. Being vulnerable never was his strong suit.

Mike remembers seeing her at the bar where they’d met after he’d been trailing her for a few days. He recalls the irony that she was on his trail, that it never occurred to her to look behind her. Spying the way her black leather paneled dress clung to her lithe frame, he had decided he’d get her into bed just for the hell of it, then he sat beside her and got his first glimpse of those eyes.

Ginny doesn’t move as he gets out of his chair and walks around the table. She knows he’s behind her but his hand in the small of her back makes her jump nonetheless. His voice is almost a whisper. “You still smell the same.”

“Don’t,” she replies, just as quiet. His voice makes every nerve stand on end as she turns around to look at him, leaning back on the table to stay as far out of his space as she could.

He takes a step forward, crowds her onto the table’s edge. “Don’t you miss me? Haven’t you missed me at all, Ginny?”

“Mike…” Her eyes fall closed as she realizes he still smells the same somehow, like soap and coconuts and something musky that makes her stomach quiver.

He steps back, shrugs. “It’s fine.”

“I do…miss you,” she admits so quietly that he almost doesn’t hear her.

He returns to her space, reaches out to caress her cheek like she might break or disappear from his touch. “I’m sorry…for everything.”

Ginny nods. “Me too.”

“Kiss me,” he whispers, close enough to kiss her without asking if he was so inclined. Ginny shakes her head, breaks from his grasp, and goes for the door. Mike’s hands cage her in on either side, not really keeping the door from opening but Ginny lets go of the knob, turns around to look at him. She keeps her eyes on his lips until he puts his hand under her chin and lifts her face so she meets his gaze. He implores, “Kiss me.”

Ginny shakes her head, splays her hands on his chest. “It’s not that simple and you know it.”

“Just once,” he murmurs, already moving in. Ginny’s hands slide up his chest to his neck and Mike steps closer, closes the space between them then presses his mouth to hers. His hands move from the door, slide down her lithe frame until they find the hem of her gray pencil skirt and push it up enough to wedge his hand between her legs. The crotch of her silk panties is already damp when he pushes it aside, slides his fingers between her slick folds, spreading the wetness up to her clit. He presses the firm nub with his thumb and Ginny lets out a soft sob that he swallows, taking the opportunity to slip his tongue in her mouth.

“Mike we can’t,” she whispers, squirming against him.

“I can’t stop. Can you?” He opens his eyes then to squint at her. He leans his weight back off her body, gives her space to leave if she wants but Ginny stays put, lets him lower his mouth to her neck as his fingers resume their ministrations. His other hand works on the buttons on her cream silk blouse, slips inside to cup her left breast.

Ginny raises her skirt until it’s bunched around her waist, lifts her left leg to wrap around his waist. “Mike…”

He understands her request, her hands on the snaps holding his suit closed. Mike wrenches the suit open, shrugs it off so it hangs around his knees then pushes her panties down until they reach her knees then fall around her ankles. He hisses at the contact of her hands with his erection, taking them in one of his own and holding them up above her head as he used his thigh to spread her legs then step between them.

Three years should have changed something, should have made sliding inside her different. But she’s still as blindingly hot and pulsing as he remembers from the first night in their cramped motel room with its bed that was too large for the little room. He groans in her mouth, seeing stars before his closed eyes. He lifts her up, turns around and sets her on the table, taking care to stay inside her. Ginny wraps her legs around his waist, pulls him down so chest is on hers and resumes their kiss.

It doesn’t take long for Mike to take her apart, her climax a rippling explosion that makes her sink her teeth into his shoulder to muffle her scream. Mike holds out a few minutes more, winds himself so tight that all he can do is snap, shuddering against her as his shaft pulses inside her.

“Jesus,” he whispers, brushing her damp hair back from her face then captures her lips in another kiss. He lingers, his hips still lazily rocking, until their breathing settles after what seems like an eternity of languid kisses and needy caresses. He lets her up off the table, fixes her panties and skirt before he fixes his pants and falls into his chair. He scrubs a hand over his face, her scent lingering on it. “I’m sorry, Gin. You know I’m not normally like that. I just needed you.”

She remembers the lover he was in Nantucket, gentle and attentive. The word “decadent” comes to mind as she looks at her hickeyed breast. She has no doubt there are finger-sized bruises on her hips as well. She buttons her shirt, nods because that wasn’t her either as she looks over his scratched neck and swollen bottom lip. She slips her jacket on, packs her things, then pushes the button for a guard.

“Don’t leave yet,” he requests. “Ginny…”

She shakes her head. “No, Mike.”

“Please…”

The look on his face is enough to make her eyes water as the door opens. He stands, put out his hands to be cuffed. Ginny leaves the room, and he and the guard pass her. Mike looks over his shoulder at her once more and Ginny drops her eyes to her shoes, wipes her eyes when he turns back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all are really into this cause I'm really into this lol

A week passes and Mike is at his desk writing Ginny another letter when a guard comes to his cell. “Got another visitor, Lawson.”

He sets down his pen and folds his letter then walks to the cell door as its opens for him. He receives his cuffs and shackles, a protocol he thinks is a little excessive for a white collar thief like himself, but he’s exhausted himself and the guards with the argument. He shuffles down the corridor then into the elevator, turns to the guard and asks, “Who is it?”

“Same FBI agent from last time,” the guard replies. “Says she’s got something from the DA for you.”

Mike had gotten fifteen years for his crimes, and had another four to go before parole was an option so he’s got very little to talk to the DA about at the time. He shuffles off the elevator and down another corridor to the row of visitation rooms. Ginny’s waiting in the third room and the guard unshackles him then leaves as he did the first time.

“I didn’t think you’d be back,” Mike comments as he sits down.

Ginny doesn’t reply, instead puts a piece of paper before him. “This is an agreement between the bureau and the DA’s office. It releases you into my custody for the sole purpose of apprehending other forgers, fencers, and their suppliers. For every conviction we get, we knock six months off your sentence.”

“So I’m getting out?” he asks.

“Temporarily and with an ankle monitor. I talked them into letting me be your guard instead of assigning one to you, and in exchange for my supervision, you’ll put me in touch with all your contacts.”

“And for everyone you arrest, I get time off my sentence.”

Ginny shakes her head. “Pay attention. For every conviction, you get time off. No convictions, no change in your time. And if you try anything, I’ve been granted permission to put a bullet in you.”

“Oh wow let’s go right now,” he replies flatly.

Ginny leans over the table so they’re face to face. “This is a good deal. Take it.”

“Why should I help the people who put me away?”

“You’re not helping them. You’re helping me.”

“My arresting officer if memory serves.”

Ginny blinks at him. “Is that all I am?”

“Isn’t it?” He cocks an eyebrow at her.

The agent sighs. “Don’t make this about…that. Make it about yourself. You were always good at that.”

“Oh was I? And I guess you hauling my ass in was all about me.”

“You approached me. I might not have even caught you if you hadn’t been so cocky.”

“I asked you to come away with me. That was always my first choice,” he bites out. “You said no.”

“Don’t you dare throw that in my face!” Ginny hisses, jabbing her finger at him. “You told me to.”

“I did the only thing I could for you because you said you dedicated your life to the bureau. This was all for you, Gin.”

“And this is for you, Mike,” she replies in the same tone, thrusting a pen at him. “Sign this paper. Help me get these guys. You said yourself that they’re sloppy. That should make for easy convictions. You could get your whole sentence commuted off the right perp. Tell me you’d rather be stubborn and sit in here for the next twelve years.”

“I’m eligible for parole in four.”

“You could be free—free—in less time if you’d just check your ego.”

“And what am I supposed to do with that freedom? I can’t con anymore if it gets out that I’m some kind of snitch. And I can’t go straight with a rap sheet like mine. I can’t even be with the woman I love. So tell me why I should give up free room and board, cable, and a gym membership to cowboy it up with you? Especially when you’re just gonna go back to the ‘I don’t know you’ routine when I’m out.”

“I can’t know you now and you know why. But if… Things would be different.”

“Would they?”

“You don’t think I think about it sometimes? How things might’ve been if I’d taken you up on your offer to run off? You don’t think I miss you too? Unlike you, I don’t have the luxury of pining, Mike. I had to walk into the office and turn you in like it wasn’t breaking my heart. I had to testify at your trial, had to accept all those commendations like I wasn’t a liar—and a criminal. I had to betray you to save my own ass and you don’t think that haunts me?”

“And you think playing Batman and Robin is the key? Assuming we don’t get killed in the process, that is.”

“I love you, okay? I love you. I’m in love with you. You’re the love of my life. Three years I’ve been waiting and watching for you, reading those letters like they’re air. Do this so that maybe we can have a shot in hell.”

Mike lets his eyes linger on hers for a moment before he signs the paper. He slides it to her, asks, “Can I keep the pen? I’m almost done with this week’s letter and mine’s running out of ink. And you’d be surprised at how much of a bitch it is to get a pen around here.”

Ginny nods, a reluctant smile on her face. “Draw some more of those little cartoons. They’re cute.”

Mike smiles as he nods back then asks, “So what happens now?”

“I give this back the DA and he signs off on it. After that, you’ll be released into my custody. You’ll get an ankle monitor. You get an apartment and a thousand dollars a month to keep yourself clothed and fed. I’ll fill you in on what we have and you’ll fill in the blanks. Then you use your reputation to get me meetings with these guys.”

“And what are the gonna think of me bringing a cop?”

“They wouldn’t think anything of me unless you blew my cover.”

Mike looks her over in her black suit and burgundy blouse, her hair secured in a tight ponytail. “Oh right, cause you don’t look like a fed or anything.”

Ginny smirks. “I don’t look like this outside of work. You know that.”

“You’ll have to forgive me as it’s easy to forget people have clothing options. At least orange is my color.” He chuckles, shrugs. “We should go back to Nantucket for a few days.”

The agent smirks, rolls her eyes. “You’re not free, and we have no reason to go to Nantucket. I doubt it’s a hub for forgery.”

Mike shrugs again. “It might be. And we could go back to that little seafood place you liked with the lobster rolls. Or that place that brewed sangria like it’s moonshine.”

Ginny weasels her hand away. “This isn’t a rendezvous, Mike. We’ve got a job to do.”

“And three years to make up for.”

“We did that last time. It won’t be happening again.”

Mike resumes holding her hand, caressing the inside of her wrist with his thumb. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Ginny doesn’t even believe herself when she says it. She picks up the paper but Mike catches her hand, makes her let go. She tries to take her hand away but he holds on until she walks around the table and leans back on it, looking at him expectantly. He kisses the knobs of her wrist, the back of her hand, her knuckles, her palm, and each fingertip. Her eyes fall closed.

The door opens and Mike pulls her wrist up to eyelevel, examining her bracelet as if he’d never seen it. “This is exquisite. And authentic from the looks of it, agent.”

Ginny snorts. “You would know, wouldn’t you?”

He twists the bracelet around on her arm. “Tiffany’s, and it’s vintage. White gold setting, flawless diamonds, probably three karats in all. Someone loves you dearly, agent.”

Ginny takes her wrist away. “It’s just a memory now.”

Mike’s eyes flickered to her face, watching as something shuttered closed behind her eyes. “Isn’t it always?”

He turns his eyes to the guard who announces, “Lunchtime.”

Mike smiles as he stands, looks at Ginny. “Would you care to join me? It’s Taco Tuesday.”

Ginny exhales a laugh as she walks around the table and takes her briefcase and purse. “Tempting as it is, I think I’ll pass.”

She leaves the prison and heads back to work, making a beeline for her office and quickly shutting the door to lean against it. After a moment, she goes to her desk and retrieves her bag from a locked drawer. She digs through it until her shaking hand finds the small leather case she carries everywhere. She opens it and runs her fingers over the first photo, a snapshot of her and Mike in the airport. Their smiles are so wide that she can almost believe they’re different people, people whose lives had a different outcome when they returned to that airport a week later.

She flips through them until she gets to her favorite shots from that distant week. She remembers that it was Thursday morning, barely sunrise when she awoke and found herself staring at her sleeping lover. His face seemed much younger, his thick dark eyelashes splayed on his cheeks and his mouth looking much fuller. The urge to kiss him made her feel both decadent and shy as she took the camera from the nightstand and snapped his picture. As she expected, the flash woke Mike and he gave her a lazy grin, teased her about catching him without his face on. She had laughed as he took the camera from her, still laughing when it flashed. That picture of her is next and her own smile gives the agent pause. She tries to remember laughing like that at another time, with someone else. The next photo is of them both, naked with the sheets around their waists, Mike’s arm around her as he held her close and her left hand cradling his face, their smiles nothing short of elated. A tear hits the picture and Ginny quickly wipes it away as it distorts Mike’s hand in the bare small of her back. The fourth photo is of them on a pier, a Ferris wheel glowing behind them as Mike lifted her off her feet, her head thrown back as she gave a shrieking laugh.

When another tear falls, Ginny wipes it away then puts the pictures back in the case and zips it up. She puts her purse away and cradles her head in her hands. A knock precedes her best friend Evelyn’s entrance.

A technical analyst, Evelyn doesn’t fit the bureau’s buttoned-up aesthetic in her yellow sheath dress and pink pumps. She plops in the chair opposite her best friend, slides her a cup of coffee. “So are you finally gonna tell me what’s had you moody and distracted for the past few weeks?”

Ginny would like nothing more than to confess what has her so twisted in knots, but she can’t breathe it to a soul. It’s not only unsavory, it’s a felony. Ginny blinks a few times, sips her coffee. “Just stress. Almost that time of the month too.”

Neither explanation is technically a lie, but that doesn’t make her feel any better about withholding things from her best friend. Evelyn gives her a lingering look and Ginny’s sure her friend doesn’t believe her, but the technical analyst only shrugs. “Wanna get some lunch?”

“Yeah. I’m craving tacos,” Ginny replies as she grabs her purse from its drawer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let the nagging commence


	3. Chapter 3

One Week Later

Mike packs the last of his few belongings into the plastic bag the prison had given him to clear out his cell as a guard stands in the doorway, watching him closely for the revelation of contraband that could throw a wrench in his plans. Finding none, the guard takes the tub and sits it outside the cell then tosses Mike the bag containing the suit he’d been wearing when he was processed three years prior.

The simple black suit and the blue shirt he’d worn under it are snug on his now heavier frame and he leaves the jacket off, rolls up his shirtsleeves before putting on his socks and shoes. He takes his watch out of the box and puts it on but not before turning it over and reading the inscription: “Again and again and again”.

He smiles as he remembers his confusion at receiving a gift right before the start of his trial. He had wondered who would send him anything, and the sight of a watch of all things had confused him further until he turned it over and saw the inscription on its shining rose gold back. He was instantly in another place and time, one where seven short days could spark and nourish a love so deep that it still rattled around in his bones.

They were standing outside the airport, preparing for goodbyes after what had been proposed as a week-long fling (a proposal that became less and less true with every smile), and he’d asked her if she loved him. Her response was a gentle nod, and an admission, “I think we’re soulmates or something. Like, in any lifetime in any place, I’d find you and choose you. Again and again and again”. It was then that he’d confessed and begged her to come away.

He didn’t like to think of where the rest of the day had gone, but his memory sparked up in startling technicolor of the day he’d received the small box in his cell, only being allowed to open it and see the gift because he couldn’t have something as potentially dangerous as a watch. After turning over the gift to the CO, he’d written the first of what was now 160 letters, all of which had gone unanswered.

He stands and nods at the guard who steps aside to let him out of his cell.

x

“Do you have a sweater I can borrow to match this?” Evelyn asks as she watches her friend dress for the commute to the prison, pointing at her jade camisole. “Blip and I are taking a drive up the coast.”

Evelyn had met Blip Sanders, a SWAT commander, at a bureau baseball game and had fallen for him almost instantly. Ginny would have second guessed her friend before Mike, but now she knew that love could come quick as a coin toss. Ginny points to her dresser, not looking away from her closet as she tries to put together an outfit that shines the best light on her sinewy frame without appearing too studied. She pulls out a burgundy t-shirt and puts it on, thinking it goes nicely with her dark jeans. She pulls on black lace-up boots then puts on her ankle holster.

“What are these?”

Ginny turns and fireworks ignite in the pit of her stomach at the sight of the bundle of letters in Evelyn’s small hand. “Just some old letters.”

Evelyn rolls her eyes. “Clearly. I guess the better question is who they’re from.”

“Nobody.” She walks over, takes them as casually as she can, and puts them in her nightstand drawer, proud of herself for having the good sense to shred the envelopes in which they came, forever wary that someone would discover her secret.

“They’re from nobody but you kept them,” Evelyn replies, tilting her head as she looks at her friend.

Ginny shakes her head, squirming under the intensity of Evelyn’s gaze. “Well, he’s nobody now.”

“So it’s a he? Anyone I know?”

Ginny could say yes since Mike had been a rather big story at the time of his arrest, but she decides to keep her secret safe in the realm of things to be taken to the grave. She shakes her head. “I don’t even know him anymore, Ev.”

Evelyn gives an animated frown, replies, “Tragic.”

Ginny rolls her eyes then grabs her jacket and purse.

X

Mike stands outside the prison, all of his worldly possessions in a garbage bag sitting at his feet. Ginny arranges her expression into something nondescript as she gets out of the car to greet him. Mike goes for a hug almost immediately but Ginny puts up her hands, rolls her eyes. “Not a chance, Lawson.”

Mike gives the guard behind him a smile as he shrugs, puts his bag on the backseat then gets into the passenger seat. Ginny takes a deep breath then gets into the car as well, pulling away from the federal prison. She turns to scold him for being so reckless, but Mike’s not looking at her, instead looking out the window at the passing scenery. He casually remarks, “If it wasn’t for the fences, this place wouldn’t be terrible. Kind of looks like a shitty summer camp.”

“Minimum security _is_ a shitty summer camp,” Ginny replies with a smirk as they leave the grounds, passing through the security gate with a nod to the guard. Mike laughs, his gaze still glued to the window.

Once off the grounds, Mike lets down his window, leans his head out a little and inhales. “It even smells different.”

Ginny’s not sure what she imagined prison would be like for Mike, or what he would be like when he was released (she knew he’d never serve his whole bid, but she hadn’t imagined they’d be reunited so soon after their separation), but now, watching him, she wonders how he’s changed. She quickly puts her eyes back on the road when he turns to look at her. “Can we get something to eat?”

“What do you want?” Ginny asks.

He shrugs. “Anything. Prison doesn’t really let you be a picky eater.”

Ginny’s eyes prick with tears that she blinks away. When he sheepishly reaches for her hand, she doesn’t pull away, instead curling her fingers around his. He caresses the back of her hand with his thumb, humming along to a song about a woman whose lips tasted like sangria. She drives him to a little diner not far from her apartment, her lips curling with a smile when he opens the glass front door and remarks, “It smells so good in here.”

They sit in a booth and he looks over the plastic menu with something like wonder in his eyes. “I can’t even remember what it’s like to have options.”

He ends up getting a large breakfast platter with waffles, grits, eggs, and sausage. Ginny watches him clean his plates then drink his orange juice as she eats her own grits, eggs, and bacon. When he’s finished, he sighs. “That was incredible.”

“I can tell,” Ginny teases, reaching over to wipe jam from his toast off the corner of his mouth. Mike catches her hand and takes the napkin away, kisses her palm, his beard tickling the heel of her hand. Ginny pulls her hand back, shakes her head at him. “Mike…”

Mike shakes his head, tugs at his beard. “I’m sorry. It’s just nice being with you again.”

“That’s not what this is. You’ve gotta stop.”

“Why can’t I pretend it is? I’ve been thinking about being with you again for three years. Who am I hurting?” He begins folding their check and Ginny remembers his origami hobby, that he uses it as a shield when he’s uncomfortable.

“Yourself.”

“I’m not—” His eyes lift to hers and she watches something spark in his eyes before something else shutters closed and they fall back to his work. “Is there someone else?”

Ginny blinks at him. “Do you think what happened last week would have happened if there was?”

Mike shrugs, refusing to look at her. “I don’t know.”

Ginny rolls her eyes, gives him her “on the job” no nonsense tone. “I’m not doing this with you.”

He snorts but shrugs. “That’s fine. We should get going anyway. I’ve got a curfew to meet.”

Ginny drops some money on the table, leaves the diner and walks to the car, sitting on the hood and watching Mike sit patiently until their pregnant waitress waddles over and picks it up. She picks up the check too, folded into a swan, and asks him about it. He nods, taking it to show her how to make the wings flap by pulling on the tail, and she laughs. He hands it to her and smiles before he leaves. Spotting her on the hood of the car, he comes to a stop before her, his hands in his pockets.

“There’s no one else,” Ginny admits quietly.

Mike shrugs, his eyes still empty. “But that doesn’t mean there’s an us either. Is that what I’m supposed to understand?”

“What do you want from me, Mike?”

He shakes his head, takes his hands out of his pocket then puts them back. “I don’t know. Nothing, I guess.”

“I never expected to fall in love with you, okay? But I did, and then you pulled my world out from under me. And every day I’d get it back just a little more, and then I’d get one of your letters and everything slipped away again. Every time I heard one of those stupid country songs, you happened to me all over again. And I can’t even tell anyone. I can’t even say it out loud and make it real.” Ginny never cries, and definitely not where anyone can see, but tears are gleaking on her cheeks in the dimly lit parking lot.

“You think I expected you? You think I expected to ever end up in handcuffs, let alone jail, because I fell in _love_?” He gives a scoffing laugh. “I was supposed to con you. I was supposed to meet you and throw you off my trail then move on to another job. You were never supposed to mean anything to me. I wasn’t even gonna sleep with you until I saw you in person but you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen and I figured it couldn’t hurt. I didn’t want to fall in love. Not at all. Then you smiled at me and  _ho-ly_   _shit_ I blew it.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel good about this? This pile of dirty secrets that could go up in smoke in an instant if I’m not careful? Am I supposed to be _happy_ that I tripped you up on a con and managed to fall on my ass too?" Her laugh is bitter enough to make Mike flinch. "So, no, there’s no us. You can’t kiss me and hold me and make me any promises because I can’t believe you again. I can’t let you pretend because I can’t let you hurt me with another lie.”

Mike nods, frowning at his shoes. “I’m a liar. I can admit that. But when I told you I loved you that was the truest thing I’ve ever said, maybe the only true thing I’ve ever said. Believe what you want. If you can be done, I can too. I don't need this."

Ginny wipes her eyes, her teary gaze on her boots, and he shrugs at her lack of response, moves to get in the car. She reaches out and grabs his wrist. Mike stops, looks at her expectantly, and she steps forward, wraps her arms around him, buries her face in his chest. His arms encircle her and he cups the back of her head, presses a kiss to its crown. Ginny whimpers, “It hurts so much.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” he whispers into her hair. “I’m so sorry.”

Ginny lifts her head, reaches up to caress his face. “We can’t. You know that, right? And you know it’s not because I don’t want you, don’t you?”

“I know,” he answers after a moment of looking into her eyes. He lowers his head until their foreheads are touching, moves his hands to cradle her face, his thumbs caressing the curves of her jaw. Ginny tilts her head up, kisses him as briefly as she can which ends up being even longer than she intends.


	4. Chapter 4

Mike’s fingers trace stars in the small of Ginny’s back, her body draped over his in the middle of his creaky, half made bed. They lay under the thick comforter, atop the flat sheet thrown over the mattress seconds before Ginny lay back on it shortly after they left the diner. Her eyes are closed but he’s not sure if she’s asleep as her fingers sporadically twitch, holding onto his shoulders then releasing them. He recalls a similar scene in Nantucket.

She rolls away and yawns as she turns her back to him. Mike isn’t surprised as he follows. She never could sleep on her stomach, preferring to lay on her side. He takes her move as confirmation that she’s spending the night, that he’ll at least have this night. Ginny tucks her head under his chin, relaxing in his swaddling embrace as he pulls her back against him, drapes his leg over the curve of her hip as he gets comfortable. He reaches over her head, flips on the radio on the nightstand, the only thing he’d gotten during his stay in prison that he kept. It was a gift from Ginny, the only response to a letter he’d ever received from her when he wrote of hating the quiet after a week of torrential thunderstorms that kept everyone cooped up in the prison. He finds one of his favorite stations then turns it down to a low murmur.

“ _Nobody said it was easy/ Oh it’s such a shame for us to part/ Nobody said it was easy/ No on ever said it would be this hard/ Oh take me back to the start_ ,” he sings along quietly, his prison bedtime routine surprisingly easy to resume.

“ _I was just guessing/ At numbers and figures/ Pulling your puzzles apart…_ ” Ginny replies and Mike smiles, surprised that she’s heard the song before.

“ _Questions of science/ Science and progress/ Do not speak as loud as my heart…”_

“ _And tell me you love me…_ ” Her fingers thread through his hair, trailing down to cup his face in her warm palm. _“And come back and haunt me/ Oh and I’ll rush to the start…_ ”

X 

Mike awakes at the sensation of being touched but remembers quickly whose hands are tracing the border where his cheek meets his beard and relaxes, keeps his eyes closed to enjoy Ginny’s clandestine affection. Her stalled touch resumes when he evens out his breathing, pretending to be asleep so she’ll continue her exploration of his face. She drags her fingertips across the apple of his right cheek then up the bridge of his nose, moving over his eyebrow before she delicately brushes the tips of his eyelashes, splayed on his cheek.

Ginny retraces her pattern, her index finger gliding down the bridge of his nose to his Cupid’s bow then around the outline of his lips, lingering on the swell of his bottom lip. She drags her fingernails through his recently trimmed beard, marveling at the softness of the hair and the scent of coconut wafting from it.

She smirks when a smile curls his lips and, his voice gravely with sleep, murmurs, “Ladies _love_ the beard.”

Ginny laughs, gives the soft hair a tug. “I was just wondering if I could shave you without waking you.”

“Oh yeah?” He cocks an eyebrow at her. “Seems like you were molesting me in my sleep, but tell me anything.”

“Well if you want the truth, I was just enjoying our last night together.” At this, he opens his eyes to frown at her. Ginny gently tweaks the ball of his nose. "Don't frown at me. We've still got a half hour before we have to go to the office and we can't do this anymore."

Mike relaxes his face, kisses her fingertips. "Well since I've got free reign right now, I love you."

"I love you too," she replies. She smiles, running her fingertip down the bridge of his nose. Mike pulls her closer, pressing her tightly against him.  "Please don't go. I'll eat you up, I love you so."

Mike laughs, kisses her chin. "I can't believe you just said that."

"It's your favorite book," she replies with a teasing smile. 

"That's better than  _Pride and Prejudice_ ,” he argues.”

Ginny points a threatening finger at him. “Make one crack about Mr. Darcy and I’ll bite you.”

He tweaks her nose. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Agent Baker.”

“It’s _Supervisory Special Agent_ Baker.”

“Please forgive me.” He gives a cheeky smile. “So what are we doing at the office today?”

“I’ll let you read through my files on your people then I’m gonna drop you back off here while I go to softball practice.”

“Softball?”

Ginny nods. “Every department’s got a team but white collar and SWAT have the biggest rivalry.”

“What do you play?”

“Pitcher,” she answers proudly, grinning. “I’ve got a screwball that could unbutton your shirt, but Blip Sanders from SWAT can take your head off with a bat. Bastard.”

Mike chuckles. “I’m pretty handy with a bat myself.”

“Really?” She quirks her eyebrows at him.

He nods. “I was a designated hitter in high school but I usually ended up being a catcher in prison.”

“You played baseball in prison?”

He chuckles, tells her, “We’ve established that minimum security is a shitty summer camp.”

“So you hit _and_ catch?” He nods and Ginny gives him a conspiratorial grin. “You might be the secret weapon we’ve been looking for.”

“Can I even play?”

“You’re an agent of sorts. Or an informant or something. Whatever. You’re on the bureau payroll.”

“So you’re drafting me?”

“Is that okay?”

“Everything’s okay with you,” he replies with a soft smile.

x

“Why do you wear your hair like that?” Mike asks, watching as Ginny pulls her hair back in its daily ponytail.

“Because I’m going to work,” she answers with a shrug as she runs a soft brush over her head, taming flyaway curls.

“And?”

“The bureau is a boy’s club. If I went in with full hair and makeup, no one would take me serious.”

“I’d like to think men are more evolved than that.”

Ginny snorts. “That’s because you’re a man.”

She moves from the mirror to the closet, pulls out a black pencil skirt and a blue blouse. Mike watches as she gets dressed, sitting at the foot of her bed in his laundered suit, relishing the scent of Ginny’s floral detergent. When she slips on her skirt, he walks over and zips it for her then reaches up and pulls the elastic from her hair, letting her curls fall over her shoulders. His arm slips around her waist and pulls her back into him.

“You’ve got a real sexy teacher thing going on right now,” he murmurs, smiling against her ear.

“Shut up.” Ginny snickers, nudges him with her elbow and slips out of his grasp and stands before the mirror again. She finger combs her curls into order then puts on her lipstick, a nude shade almost imperceptible to detection, then sits on the bed and puts on her black pumps, only noticing Mike’s absence when she opens her mouth to ask if he’s ready.

She finds him in the kitchen, standing before her Keurig coffee maker. “Ready?”

He turns away from the machine, answers, “Almost. I’m waiting for my coffee. I haven’t had real coffee in so long.”

“You don’t have coffee in jail?”

He shrugs. “It’s this instant stuff that comes in packets. You mix it with hot water. It’s disgusting.”

The machine sputters to a stop and he takes his full cup, bringing it to his nose to breathe in the scent. Ginny watches, a reluctant smile on her face.

X

Mike looks through the files Ginny’s given him, his feet propped up in one of the two chairs on the opposite side of her desk. “How do you have so little information?”

“This may come as a shock, but criminals are a pretty tight-lipped bunch,” she replies with a smirk before sipping her coffee. He lifts a picture of a thin man with glasses. “Noah Casey. He’d rat out his mother to seem important to a beautiful woman.”

Ginny scribbles his name on a legal pad. “That all you know about him?”

Mike nods. “Too young for my crowd.”

“So who’s in your crowd?”

He thumbs through a few more files until he comes across a red-headed man. “Charlie. We’ve been working in the same circles since we were kids.”

“Think you can get in touch with him?”

He nods. “We talked a few times while I was inside. I’ll give him a call tomorrow.”

He flips through a few surveillance shots of Charlie then frowns at Ginny, says, “I’m in a lot of these.”

“Really?” At this, she rounds the desk and sits atop it, looking down at the pictures Mike presents to her. Sure enough, his sunglasses-covered face appears in the background of several pictures. “I can’t believe we never noticed you. How didn’t I recognize you?”

“Well you were drunk,” he replies.

Ginny snorts, scoffs, “I was _not_. I’d only had, like, 3 glasses of wine.”

“Well I’ve never been kissed like by a sober woman.”

Ginny snickers, recalling her and Mike’s first kiss on the bar’s tiny dance floor, shortly after they’d exchanged names, as Mike’s fingers enclose her ankle, the calloused pad of his thumb rubbing against the knobby joint. Ginny’s foot jerks but she makes no move to pull away.

( _“It’s not the pale moon that excites/ That thrills and delights me/ Oh no/ It’s the nearness of you…” the smoke-obscured singer on the bar’s small stage croons as her piano player twinkles the keys._

_“Kiss me,” Mike murmurs, pulling Ginny even closer on the floor._

_“It’s a personal rule of mine not to kiss men whose names I don’t know,” Ginny replies._

_“I’m Mike,” he answers a second before he plants a soft kiss on her lips. “Pleased to meet you.”_ )

“I highly doubt that,” she snorts, her ankle jerking as his fingers spider crawl up the back of her calf.

“I’m more innocent thank you assume, Agent Baker,” he replies with a grin.

A brief knock at the door precedes the entrance of Evelyn, clad in a bright orange dress, and Mike reluctantly but quickly releases her ankle. “Gin, do you wanna—”

She stops talking at the sight of Mike and blinks at him before returning her focus to Ginny. “Lunch?”

“Sure,” Ginny answers too quickly, hopping off her desk. She gestures to Mike. “Ev, this is Mike. He’s my…partner.”

“I’m your partner? _Noice_ ,” he replies.

“Only technically. And don’t say noice.”

“Smort,” he answers, snickering at her frown. Evelyn laughs at her friend’s stone face.

“Just so we’re clear, I have the authority to shoot you.”

“But if you shot me, I wouldn’t be your partner anymore.” He picks up her keys then heads for the door. “I’ll get the elevator.”

Ginny nods, takes her purse from her bottom desk drawer, only meeting Evelyn’s gaze when she gets the prickling sensation she’s being watched. “What?”

“You’re sleeping with him,” Evelyn answers with a grin.

“I’m not.”

“Well you should be.”

“And why is that?”

“Because if he looks at you like that before you sleep with him, the sight of you naked will change his life.”

Ginny rolls her eyes, heads for the door.

 

X

Two Days Later

Ginny emerges from the bathroom in her third outfit of the day, a black t-shirt and her favorite jeans. She sighs, asks, “Better?"

Mike tilts his head then shakes it. “There’s just something about the outfit that screams cop.”

“Could that be because you know I’m a cop?” she asks, rolling her eyes.

Mike shrugs. “Maybe. But the ponytail and the boots scream, ‘I’m undercover’ or something.”

“These are my work clothes, Mike.”

“Why would you wear your ‘I’m a cop’ clothes when you’re deliberately trying to not look like a cop, Gin?”

“Because it didn’t occur to me that criminals were so concerned with appearances.”

Mike rolls his eyes. “First of all, how do you people catch criminals when you know so little about them? And second, appearance is everything in crime. Looking out of place in the wrong place at the wrong time can and has gotten people killed.”

“So what should I wear?”

“Something—”

“No.” Ginny points to her closet. “Go in there and find something that would work for your crowd. I’m done.”

She sits down on the bed and nudges him. Mike looks at her unsurely but gets off the couch and goes to the closet. He pushes aside her collection of leather jackets, looking over his shoulder at her with a sneer. He plucks a chambray sundress from the rack then looks back at her. “You wore this on the flight to Nantucket. I remember because I spent the whole time wondering how I would get all those buttons undone when we were alone.”

Ginny smiles at her lap, recalling how he’d gone painfully slowly undoing the buttons as he stood behind her in the dark hotel room. He replaces it on the rack, moves on to a red dress that he presents to her. The agent shakes her head. “I’m not wearing that.”

“We’re having brunch downtown. You’ll fit right in,” he replies.

“No.”

Mike rolls his eyes. “Who’s the expert here, me or you?”

“I wasn’t aware you were an expert on women’s fashion, unless you’d like to tell me something.”

“That’s funny. You should quit the bureau and go into standup.” He rolls his eyes again. “These are my people. I know how to fit in.”

Ginny rolls her eyes but takes the dress from him. She pulls the elastic from her hair and shakes her curls loose, earning a whistle from Mike. She snorts a laugh then goes into the bathroom to change again. She calls, “Go in my nightstand and get my .22.”

Mike does as she requests, finding the little silver gun and something else that makes him grin as Ginny comes out of the bathroom in the clinging red dress. Mike’s not sure if it was his best decision or his worst as his eyes fall to her cleavage then the way the floral printed dress hugs her curves. She holds out her hand for the gun but Mike hands her his discovery instead. Ginny’s face flushes at the sight of her blue vibrator. “Where did you get this?”

“Your nightstand,” he replies with a smile. “So is _that_ why I haven’t heard from you in four days?”

“You haven’t heard from me in four days because what happened the other night can’t happen again. This,” she holds up the vibrator as she takes it back to the nightstand, “is none of your business.”

Mike shrugs. “I just don’t see the point in being…left to your own devices when I’m a phone call away.”

“You are so much more than a phone call away,” Ginny replies as she puts her keys, phone, and gun in a gold clutch.

“No that’s you. I’m where I’ve been since we met.”

Ginny snorts, moving to stand before the dresser and pull her wet hair up into a loose bun at the crown of her head. “You’ve got that right. I’m living in the present. You’re the one who’s still stuck on that beach in Nantucket like nothing’s changed.”

“What’s so different? You still smell the same. You still taste the same. You still make the same face when you cum. Tell me what’s so different.”

“You’re an ex-con and I’m the person who put you away.” Ginny puts on a little lipstick, decides not to fix the hanging stray curls she’d missed.

Mike rolls his eyes. “How long are you gonna play that old song? If you want me to leave you alone, tell me the feelings are different—and mean it when you say it.”

Ginny leans on her hands on the dresser, bites her lip. “Do we have to do this every time we see each other?”

“Apparently,” he replies before brushing past her to leave her bedroom. Ginny sighs as she leaves behind him. She locks up the house, finds him sitting on the hood of her car when she turns around. He’s just as handsome as she remembers him from the night they met, and wearing a shirt that’s the same shade of blue, this one straining over muscles much larger than the ones he’d had then. His navy pants suffer a similar fit, stretched across thighs like tree trunks. Ginny walks over and stands before him, frowning at his open collar so she doesn’t have to look at his eyes as he studies her face.

"You need new clothes," she tells him quietly. 

He nods. "I'll get some."

“I don’t want to keep fighting with you."

“Then stop fighting with me,” he replies as if it’s that simple.

“I would if you’d stop—”

“Stop what? Stop being in love with you? Don’t you think I would if I could? If I could just turn it off—if it was even _close_ to being that simple—I’d do it without a second thought.” Ginny’s eyes drop to her shoes and she steps out of his space, gets in the car and starts it before he’s off the hood. Mike gets in the passenger seat and puts the bistro’s address in the GPS, turning to look out the window as Ginny backs out of the driveway. They spend the ride in silence, Ginny turning on the radio, still on the country station Mike had chosen, just to fill the quiet.

Mike’s fingers drum on his knee as they pull into the bistro’s parking lot and Ginny drives around looking for a space. “ _You’re a saint/ You’re a goddess/ The cutest/ The hottest/ The masterpiece/ And I know that I can’t/ Ever tell you enough/ That all I need in this life/ Is your crazy love_ —”

Ginny cuts the ignition, silencing the radio, and Mike realizes she’s pulled into a spot, once again leaving the tiny hotel room where he’d held her close, dancing her around the room to that song in her whispery white nightgown, the shaft of moonlight pouring through the bungalow’s tiny window and out of the car and walks around it to open her door for her. She drops her black pumps on the ground and steps into them, standing eye to eye and much closer to him than she intends.

Mike’s hands clutch her arms, pulling her into him and resting his forehead on hers. Ginny’s eyes fall closed, her voice a whisper. “Did you mean that?”

He shakes his head, his hands falling to her waist. “No. I don’t ever want to stop being in love with you. It’s the only good thing I’ve ever done.”

“I love you too,” she whispers against his mouth. “I’m in love with you too.”


	5. Chapter 5

"You look very familiar," the sandy-haired man, dressed in a black suit and red shirt, tells Ginny as they shake hands before the intricately decorated table. "Have we met?"

"I don't think so. I'm sure I'd remember you." Ginny smiles and he smiles back, looks over at Mike.

"You might be leaving this brunch alone," he says.

Mike smirks as he pulls out Ginny's chair. "I doubt you can afford her, Charlie."

"I'm a wealthy man, wealthier still since you've been away."

"So you've picked up my old contacts?" Mike touches Ginny's knee with his own under the table, adjusting his shirt collar, a microscopic microphone nestled in its fold  

"A few. Stubbs got out after his old lady took the fall for him, took their little girl out to Long Island and got his father-in-law to cut him into the family business."

Mike snorts. "So he's not really out then?"

"Out of our business anyway," Charlie replies with a shrug.

"So who's still around?"

"Livan Duarte. Remember him? That rubber-faced Cuban kid?" Mike nods and Charlie continues, "He passes some nice stuff along when he gets his hands on it, but he'd rather sell coke to stock brokers for investment tips."

"He ever bring his girl over? What was her name?"

"Marisol? Yeah. She was here a whole weekend before she took off with some photographer who's gonna make her a superstar in Paris." Charlie snorts, sips his drink.

"What about Salvamini?"

Charlie snorts again. "Pretty motherfucker just had another baby."

"What's that? His fifth one?"

"Try sixth," Charlie replies. "He's still doesn't miss a job, even if he's got one of the rugrats with him."

"Remember when we went down to Florida to meet that freak with the bullet collection and he brought his little girl? And she--" His laugh swallows the rest of the story.

Charlie's face is red as he actually giggles, a sound Ginny doesn't expect from him. "And she shit her pants in the middle of dinner?"

“And it got on that ugly yellow suit Butch thought was so nice cause it was Gucci.” Mike’s face is red from laughter as he wipes his eyes. “Where is that ugly bastard anyway?”

Charlie lowers his voice. “Y’know he's doing wet work now.”

“Wet work?” Ginny asks Mike who gives her a pointed look and she nods.

"You're doing wet work now Charlie?" There's an edge of judgment in Mike's voice.

Charlie shakes his head. "Not my style. You know that."

“So what’s Butch doing for you now?”

“Remember that brunette girl, Cara? The one who thinks she’s cat woman?” Mike nods. “They’re running acquisitions for me.”

“I thought Cara worked alone?”

“Everyone’s for sale if you know the right price.” He grins at Mike. “Speaking of her, did you two ever…?”

Ginny deliberately averts her eyes from Mike, scanning the restaurant for their server, her stomach a knot she’s sure will never unravel. He answers, “Just once. You know, for someone who wears leather for a living, she’s surprisingly limited.”

“They can’t all be Rachel Patrick. She was _wild_.” Charlie snickers like a schoolboy.

“Hey that’s my ex-wife you’re talking about,” Mike laughs.

Charlie's laughter subsides, his hands raised in surrender. “That’s fair. She was yours first.”

“She cost you more money than she ever cost me so…” Mike shrugs, smiling as he shakes his head.

“Half a million on the best defense team I could get her, and the crazy bitch just casually confesses to robbing Tiffany’s blind. Never seen anything like it.” He shakes his head.

“I told you that was a bad idea. Who the hell wants to dress as a movie character to rob a jewelry store?”

Charlie smiles indulgently at Ginny. “The love of my life—for the summer anyway—tells me she wants to pull off a jewelry heist, so I give her everything she needs. Get her a team that can steal the buttons off your shirt if they want, and they map out the job from start to finish. Only Rachel thinks it’s _Sugar and Spice_ , shoots the security guard and throws the whole damn situation in the crapper. Then she _confesses_ , folds like a lawn chair in open court.”

Ginny laughs, gives Mike a pointed look. “And you married Ma Barker?”

Mike shakes his head. “She was a small time thief when I met her, more klepto than anything else. Charlie made her Bonnie Parker.”

“What can I say? I’m a terrible influence,” Charlie replies with a laugh.

Ginny tries to remember another time she's seen Mike so jubilant. "So do you guys ever deal in authentic stuff?"

Charlie makes a noncommittal hand gesture. "Depends on what you're looking for."

"She likes music boxes. Those ancient ones with the little figures that spin in them," Mike answers. He turns his eyes to Ginny, asks, "Did you ever get that one I sent you? The porcelain one that played Tennessee Waltz?"

Ginny nods. "I put it away. It seemed expensive."

He nods back. "It was. Authentic Joe Hautman. Worth a hundred grand easy."

"But you got it for a bargain?" She guesses it's a fake, but still an expensive one.

"Quarter of a million." He gives a rueful smile. "Imagine my surprise when I found out I'd been overcharged."

"You spent that much on a music box? Why?"

He shrugs. "It played your favorite song. And it was cheaper than that little blue one shaped like an egg. The one with the crustal elephant in it. What'd you do with that one?"

“It’s on my nightstand. I love that song it plays,” she replies.

“It’s called ‘Sleepwalk’. You know, it didn’t originally play that? Cost an arm and a leg to get it changed.”

Ginny shrugs. “Apparently money’s no object to you.”

“Not for you,” he answers and Ginny turns to look at him, sheepishly meeting his gaze before her eyes fall back to her lap.

Charlie's eyebrows quirk and he picks up his menu, tells Ginny, "I recommend the lobster…since money’s no object.”

Ginny picks up her own menu, replies, “I can afford it.”

“So can I.” Mike frowns at her. “You’re not paying.”

“I can pay. We’ve still gotta buy you some new clothes so you should save your money.”

He shakes his head. “That has nothing to do with me paying, Ginny.”

“It does.”

“Why don’t I pay to avoid a lover's quarrel?” Charlie interjects.

Ginny smiles at his attempt to cut their tension. “Thank you.”

“No problem. I owe Mike a million brunches for all the money he’s made me.” He digs in his jacket pocket and Ginny fights the instinct to pull her weapon. He pulls out a business card, hands it to Mike. “This is my tailor, Buck. He can get you anything you need.”

Mike squints at the card. “Buck Garland? Al’s guy?”

Charley shakes his head. “Not anymore. He got shot in the ass over some counterfeiting plates right after you went dowb, got out as soon as the hospital released him. Married a twenty-one-year-old cocktail waitress who snorts so much coke her nose should’ve fallen off by now.”

Mike laughs, shakes his head. “Buck Garland out of the game? Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Were you close?” Ginny asks.

“Back then, you couldn’t even pickpocket without Buck’s blessing. When my old man got locked up, he adopted me,” Mike answers. “I remember my first job for him was saran wrapping girls who smuggled heroin on flights. I was probably fifteen and these were some of the most beautiful girls I’d ever seen, and they’d just get naked in front of me.”

Ginny grins, her eyebrows raised. “Sounds like fun.”

“We were wild back then,” Charlie replies. “Thought being cocaine cowboys was the high life.”

“Now we make three times the money for a half the work and a quarter of the jail time.” Mike smiles.

“I’ll drink to that.” They clink their water glasses as the waitress finally approaches.

“I hope you’re ready for some real drinks,” she greets.

“I’ll have…” Ginny scans the drink menu with a frown.

“She’ll have a pomegranate bellini,” Mike interjects.

“And for you?”

“Gin and tonic.”

“I’ll have one too,” Charley adds then asks, “Who’s the chef today?”

“Tommy,” the waitress answers.

“Tell him his old man’s here and to send the usual for three.”

She nods and flits away. Ginny asks, “You have a son?”

He shrugs. “I loved his mother once, and his father took the fall for me before he was even walking. So I always try to keep an eye on him. He wanted to be chef so I sent him to France. Can you believe the little shit’s already got a Michelin Star?”

“And he’s not in the business?”

Charlie gives a severe shake of his head. “I do what I do so he never has to. Back in the day, our fathers didn’t know any better than to keep us out of shit, but I owe him better than that.”

“You always want your kids to go straight,” Mike agrees. “It’s why I haven’t had any yet. By the time they come along, I wanna be completely ready to do the family thing. You know, Saturdays, little league, birthday parties in the backyard.”

“I always wanted a fruit farm somewhere like Vermont,” Ginny says with a smile. “I could grow seasonal fruit and make jam.”

“Jam? You can’t even scramble eggs,” Mike teases with a smile.

“Can too. That hotel had a crap stove.”

“Go ahead. Blame your tools.” He tweaks her nose. “So, why Vermont?”

Ginny shrugs. “It just seems like a nice place. You get all four seasons, they vote blue, and it’s close enough to New York that we—I, I mean—can get up there for a weekend every once in a while.”

“Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.”

She shrugs again. “I’ve always wanted my kids to have a real childhood. White Christmases and picket fences and camping in the backyard.”

Mike smiles, gently asks, “So are you gonna be having all those white Christmases and backyard campouts by yourself?”

Ginny squeezes his knee. “Let’s not talk about that.”

She watches something shutter closed behind his eyes, how he shifts out of her space. “Right.”

Charlie looks from one of them to the other, the tension palpable. He watches as Mike glowers for a moment then replaces one of Ginny's fallen curls, his fingertip trailing the shell of her ear then the line of her neck. The crinkle between her eyebrows dissipates and her body shifts toward his once more as his arm rests on the back of her chair.

After brunch, Mike takes Ginny’s keys and pulls her car around, leaving her alone with Charlie, who eyes her appraisingly.

“There’s something terribly familiar about your face,” he says. “I’m almost positive we’ve met. Have you ever been to Cabo? Waitresses in a bar down there?"

Ginny shakes her head. “I used to waitress out in Brooklyn, but I never forget a face.”

“Anyway, it was nice meeting you. I hope you and Mike make it. He seems crazy about you.” He gives her one last look as Mike pulls up then moves to open the passenger door for her.

Ginny smiles as she gets in the car. “Nice meeting you too.”

He nods at Mike, shuts her door. Ginny puts on her seatbelt as Mike pulls away from the curb. He asks, “Do you wanna wait and get my clothes tomorrow?”

She almost asks what’s wrong but she can see the distant look has returned to his eyes as he dries toward the freeway. “Yeah. That sounds fine.”

She turns up the radio, switches off the country station to the oldies, filling the car with Luther Vandross. “ _If this world were mine/ I would make you a king/ With wealth untold/ You could have anything/ If this world were mine_ …”

“ _I'd give you each day/ So sunny and blue/ And if you wanted the moonlight/ I'd give you that too_ ” Mike joins, making Ginny look out the window. “ _If this world were mine_ …”

A short while, they pull up in front of their apartment building and Mike cuts the ignition. Ginny takes off her seatbelt and opens her car door but stops before she gets out, turns back to Mike. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

“No. It was my fault for forgetting that we aren’t those people,” he replies with a frown.

“Please don’t look like that.”

Mike sighs. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Gin.”

“Tell me you’ll wait. Tell me you’ll hold off on all this hoping until we catch these guys and actually have a chance at a future,” she replies.

“Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> Pls nag me about this


End file.
